Insulated jokes

Sam Smith was a colleague of me Grandpa Joe. He was what Grandpa would describe as fractious. If anyone knew fractious, Joe did, God love him.
Sam owned a company which required welding equipment at times, and at such times he rented them from Joe. Once me Grandpa sent me Pops out to pick up an electric welder after Sam's company was through with it. Pops got there and the machine was still hooked up. Now, these things were powered by 440 three phrase current. I'm not sure how much that is but I know it's way more potent than house current. So Pops went to find the electrician to disconnect it.
Who he found was Sam, and Sam was already, well, feeling fractious. Apparently somebody or something had set him off for the day. Vowing to take care of it himself, he marched to the tool crib, me Pops in tow, to get a screwdriver.
"Gimme a screwdriver!" he demanded of the man, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who oversaw the crib. Cloyce, seeing Sam was mad, smiled and handed him a screwdriver. It had a metal handle rather than an insulated one, the kind he knew Sam would actually want. With the kind of power involved, you needed the insulation.
Pops, smiling himself as he had spied what Cloyce had done, and Sam walked a few steps before Sam noticed what he had been given. "They're trying to fry me like a piece of bacon!" he screamed loudly. He marched with great stomping steps back to the crib, where Cloyce was standing and waiting with the right tool. And still grinning too, but he had the sense to say nothing.